


Starvation

by violue



Series: The Warmth of Seraphina's Flame [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Captivity, M/M, Pre-Slash, Starvation as Coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 05:06:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16988586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violue/pseuds/violue
Summary: He will not yield.





	Starvation

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Kris :3
> 
> Read the first part first, and this second part second.

Seraphina’s blessings, it turns out, are full of odd loopholes. The men lead into battle by the man the soldiers call Winchester cannot, will not harm Castiel. They are an extension of Winchester, and Winchester cannot harm Castiel. However, Castiel can harm as many of them as he likes.

He does his best to make himself a difficult prisoner. He attacks guards any time an opportunity strikes, even if his only option is to break their noses with a thrust from his forehead. The guards liken him to a feral cat, though Castiel says nothing in response. He hasn’t said a word in two weeks.

Two weeks aboard a large sailing vessel, moving further and further away from the only home he has ever known, wondering if he will see it again some day, if there will be anything to return to. The last Castiel saw of the men he served beside, they were being marched off the shores, hands bound behind their backs, heads covered with old cloth sacks.

Castiel does not know what their fate will be, though he has to assume if they were to be killed, Winchester’s men would have done so on the battlefield, thrown them to rot on the ground with the other soldiers that perished in the clash. Perhaps they are to be slaves. Or used as hostages. Or tortured for information.

Castiel’s lamenting is interrupted by yet another sickening roil of hunger pulsing through him. They’ve stopped feeding him, they think it will make him talk. Castiel would prefer to die over giving them the satisfaction of seeing him break. They underestimate Castiel’s strength… or stubbornness, as Gabriel would classify it. Many thought Castiel to be one of the strongest warriors in the land, and if not for the stain of his mother’s berserker blood, he’d have been commanding the warriors on the beach instead of the now deceased Balthazar.

Balthazar, who will never laugh at his own jokes again, or compete with Gabriel to see who can hold the strongest wine and spirits in their stomachs, or regale Castiel with long, detailed descriptions of his carnal exploits. 

The hunger pains come again and Castiel groans, rolling to his side on the meager straw-filled mattress on the floor. He is alone in this part of the vessel, though there are dungeon cells capable of holding far more than just he. Well constructed, unfortunately, or Castiel would have already painted the ship red with the blood of these invaders.

There’s a scuffle up above, on the ship’s deck, perhaps. There’s shouting and stomping, and eventually the noise moves closer and closer until Castiel hears a door banging open.

“I SAID THAT’S AN ORDER!” a man shouts, before a single set of angry footsteps come toward Castiel’s cell.

As much as he would like to stare whoever this is down, Castiel can’t seem to peel himself off the mattress. He opens his eyes to see Winchester standing on the other side of the iron bars. He’s dressed simply, for a general. Beige tunic, brown trousers, not even a weapon as far as Castiel can see. He looks absolutely devastated, but also enraged. He’s clutching a thin tray so tightly that Castiel expects the wood will snap at any moment.

There’s food on the tray. An apple, bread, some sort of gourd. The tray shakes in his grip. He glares down at Castiel for what feels like hours, green eyes burning with anger, before he crouches and sets the tray on the floor, right against the bars. Castiel grins up at him, even through his pain. The flames of Seraphina will not allow this man to starve his own soulmate, apparently.

Winchester’s glare intensifies, and then he all but crumples to the floor, leaning against the bars across from Castiel’s cell.

“Eat,” he pleads.

Castiel would so enjoy denying him, but he is so very hungry, and he hasn’t tasted an apple since he was a child. He drags himself closer to the bars, staring defiantly back at Winchester as he pulls himself upright. Now that he’s closer, he can see the gourd is hollowed out, full of water, and there are hunks of cheese behind the bread. He goes for the apple first, and Winchester sighs with pained relief as he bites into the fruit. As much as he ought to savor this, the bite of apple only serves to make him feel more ravenous, and he tears through the contents of the tray in a matter of minutes, so fast he’s not sure he even tasted anything. He’d have eaten the gourd too if it weren’t lacquered with something to preserve it.

He looks up at Winchester, wondering if he’ll be expected to thank him, and is surprised to see the man is fast asleep, looking… peaceful. Young. Vulnerable. Castiel would so love to slit this man’s throat. But he can’t. He can barely think of it without feeling ill. Seraphina is a cruel and capricious god, surely.

Castiel moves himself back to his mattress, sighing. The pain in his gut has not passed, probably won’t settle for some time, but some of the shaking has stopped.

He lies on his side, peering through the bars to watch Winchester slumber until sleep comes to claim him too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I have no real plan for this series/verse, though I have another part in progress. I wrote this because I felt inspired, and I'll always follow inspiration during those rare times it comes to me.


End file.
